A man, a woman, and a boy had come in sight, appearing from behind the seats allotted to spectators. Evidently they had emerged but a minute before from a strip of timber that cut off the view of a farmhouse that was on the right of the gun club grounds and some distance away. They were running as fast as they could, and were shouting something as they came on. The boy, a lanky chap of fourteen or fifteen, was vigorously shaking the bell. The man carried a large pail, and the woman swung a roll of dirty cloth.
"Hold on! hold on!" the man howled. "Jest handle 'em gently, can't ye?"
The Chickering set, as well as Merriwell's friends, heard him.
"Oh, yes! we'll handle 'em gently!" snarled Skelding, slapping at one of the stinging things and crushing it with his hand. He saw then that it was a bee. He jerked his hand away and stuck his fingers into his mouth. Then jumped up and began again to hop around.
"It run its stinger into my finger an inch!" he growled.
"Hold on! hold on!" the old man was howling.
"I'm holding on!' cried Rupert, smashing away at a handful of bees which seemed to be settling down on him all at once.
"You're killing 'em!" screeched the old woman.
"Yes, we're killing 'em!" Skelding answered, flailing away as if he had gone crazy. "I'd like to kill a million in a minute! I can't kill them fast enough! I'd like to welt 'em with a club and smash a regiment at a blow!"
Lew Veazie threw himself on the ground, drew his hat down over his head, and began to kick and shriek.